Rev up for a virtual ride

Monday, June 1, 1998

Monday, June 1, 1998

Rev up for a virtual ride

VACATION: Imaginary trip will take your mind off studying, L.A. traffic

I know you're studying hard, so I've decided to cook up a little something special for you. Because I know you don't have time to get out and do anything, I've developed a way to read your mind so your thoughts will be transcribed by a special top-secret machine which is embedded into the newspaper. (I'm not joking; hold it up to the light - you can see the outline of the wiring.)

Anyway, this column is a virtual reality trip for the left side of your brain, with words instead of pictures. And, the upside is you don't have to buy expensive equipment - just read this article, sit back, relax and get ready to enjoy the great horn of plenty that is the L.A. basin.

Now, to fill in the background, I would tell you what the weather is like, but I don't think that I need to because you live here. If the trip took place in New England during the winter, I might have to tell you about the New England Novocaine Effect: If you live in Vermont, for example, you become susceptible to the Effect (as the natives call it) whenever you leave your home. How? Well, just after you close the door, the frigid New England air hits you and numbs your face.

So consider yourself lucky that you don't have to deal with this wintertime "dentist's office," because going out in a New England winter is just about as much fun as going to the dentist. Angelenos never have to deal with the New England Novocaine Effect, but Los Angeles still has its problems.

Slipping into the driver's seat in Los Angeles is just like climbing into a dentist chair, because you know that whatever the dentist has in mind isn't enjoyable, and to make things worse you're paying for the pain. But because this is a fantasy, you don't have to drive - isn't that great? No driving.

And remember - because you're not really driving, you don't have to worry about the car or the smell associated with the car. Take those Buicks that get old and musty, for example; people try to compensate with a little odor-intensive care in the form of an air freshener on the rearview mirror. But you don't have to worry about anything pine-scented or potpourri-ish; I've taken care of that. Besides, if you were driving right now, you would have hit the 10 p.m. rush-hour traffic on the 405. But you're not driving, so don't worry about it.

OK, so where do you want to go?

"The ice rink."

OK, I can do that ... As you arrive, you pass the herd of teenagers outside - a girl with a gaudy pearl necklace, a couple of skateboarders - you know, kids. You walk in and pass through these long narrow slates of plastic, like the ones in the frozen food section of the grocery store. Remember the New England Novocaine Effect? It's just about that cold. OK, I'm exaggerating, but it's not far off, as you zip up your jacket to ward off the numbing waves of air from the ice rink.

You're silent for a little while, but the silence is soon broken as you ask your Canadian friend if he can skate, because naturally, Canadians can skate - it's a law of nature, isn't it? But he says he can't.

Now, I guess assuming a Canadian can skate is like coming to California and assuming that everyone can surf, going to New York and assuming that everyone is a jerk or visiting USC and assuming everyone is a fool. But I'm sure there are plenty of Canadian surfers, Californian jerks, New York fools and USC ice skaters - so much for stereotypes.

Unfortunately, the ice rink is just closing - $8 for 10 minutes doesn't quite make sense, so where do you want to go next?

"The go-carts."

OK, no problem. Just sit back and relax, because after all, this is a fantasy voyage through Los Angeles, so no cars, no L.A. traffic, no smog, no 405. Relax, because I've removed a key part of L.A. culture.

But you're not relaxing. As you wait in line to jump into a go-cart, you ruminate: "How can these go-cart track owners convince people to get into their cars, drive in traffic and park, leaving their cars behind, only to get into a smaller car and drive on a track in circles?"

By promising less traffic, but the same freeway smell? OK, maybe that's pushing it. But the tracks smell just as they should; cheap gasoline burnt to a crisp is just part of the package. Besides, tearing around the track isn't that bad. Actually it's great; driving (nowhere) voluntarily as fast as you can - is there anything better?

As you climb into the car, you wish the go-cart had pre-packing instructions, because you're just a little too big to fit into the steel cages they call "go-carts." You pedal the gas and the brakes and get ready to bolt through the pack. The track manager gives you final instructions and the green light flashes, inciting the drivers to throttle their cars forward. You're doing pretty well - at least in your mind you're doing well.

And in your (pseudo) moment of triumph your mind wanders, which isn't a good idea if you're operating heavy machinery. You're thinking, "I'm good enough to do this professionally." Congratulations - you're stuck in an episode of Formula One Fantasia and somehow, you've convinced yourself that go-carting is a sport.

You're thinking: "Sure, go-carting could be a sport, because anything you do voluntarily can be a sport." And you're not stopping there; if an activity is a sport, then it must also have a magazine, so you're dreaming about taking your place on the cover of Go-Cart Illustrated.

If that wasn't enough, your mind continues to explore: "If go-carting is a sport, then can there be professional go-carters?" Perhaps you think that may be possible, but professional go-carters aren't on the same level as NBA basketball players. Instead, they enjoy the same level of prestige as those professional miniature golfers, who make an occasional appearance at 1 a.m. on ESPN. And, like the PMGA (Professional Miniature Golfing Association) members, professional go-carting isn't something you want to brag about.

You finally pull out of your Chevron Techron Haze to compose yourself as you breeze through the finish line - battered and bruised - walking now is an instinct for survival. But as you wobble off the track, you're comforted by the words of one of your fellow racers: "Can we still catch the bus?" A smile tickles your face. You're remembering back to your diesel days, when the meaning of life centered on having exact change.

You're thinking back when you rode the bus and it was always a toss-up: What's more comfortable? The bus-stop benches or the hard-plastic seats inside the buses?

But you don't care because you've inhaled enough gasoline fumes to make Timothy Leary pass out; you're thinking: "Buses have a culture of their own, don't they?" You stop for a second - and you almost go back to reality - but you make a left turn at the corner of Sanity and Freudian Psychology and keep on going.

You remember those little things you thought about when you were young, like advertisements on bus-stop benches. On the first bench is always an ad for advertising - how to contact them to place an ad, that kind of thing. Their catchy slogan is always something like: "Advertise Smart," which is OK, but on the next bench by the "Advertise Smart" sign is one that says: "Need a dentist?"

Now you see a problem here. "Need a dentist?" What were they thinking? Doesn't this dentist know that the people who put advertising on benches are trying to give him a hint? "Advertise smart." Did this dentist really think that advertising his offices on a bus stop was a "smart" idea? Who would ever go to see a dentist who advertises on bus stops?

You would - OK, no you wouldn't. Sorry, I was pushing it - after all the trip's almost over. Right about now, I would tell you to take off your special virtual reality goggles, but remember you don't have any, because I believe in quality low-cost entertainment. But I'm not sure how enjoyable this whole virtual reality column has been.

I'm sorry that the ice-skating rink was closed. I tried my best. But you liked the go-cart ride, didn't you? I don't know why you were so obsessed; I guess I know where your heart is. Is go-carting a sport? Are there professional go-carters? Welcome to the Wide Word of Go-Carts.

You have problems. And don't blame this on me, you wrote this entire thing; this was your trip. You're obviously obsessed with anything that has an engine. I go out of my way to find technology that saves you from having to drive, and all you think about - all you talk about is: "The Theory of Transportation." You're a walking cliche: Los Angeles, you and traffic headaches. I've had it with you; next time you're going to have to drive yourself, because you obviously are fixated on anything automotive. I hope you and your steering wheel are very happy together. Good day. (And, don't call me on your car phone either.)

Spencer Hill